


Marksmanship

by sherrinholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Insanity, Lost - Freeform, M/M, Madness, Mind Palace, Sherlock's Mind, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherrinholmes/pseuds/sherrinholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was not John Watson. It had stolen his vocal chords, my own consciousness in disguise. Perhaps I've not spent enough time admiring its genius."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marksmanship

At first, I barely noticed his absence. It seemed my mind was quite keen on filling in the gap that was John Watson. This was in no way surprising, as he was not always at my side. In such cases I would continue the exchange, adding in his responses.

_Brilliant._

On his return, I would be interrupted, of course, by the man himself, questioning what exactly I was doing. The answer was only that I didn't know he'd left. This was not exactly true, but it was the best answer I could give. I was sure a part of my inner voice had morphed, taking his form and dialogue. An impersonation of sorts. It was useful; having someone to listen always helped me to think. I would find a solution, solve a puzzle, to be greeted with mental praise.

 _Fantastic_.

And really it was.

Now, though, it was all becoming something of a burden. I had somehow tainted the mimicry. Instead of aiding me, it shouted, interrupted. Compliments on my words became insults, ones I had heard too often. It was not John Watson. It had stolen his vocal chords, my own consciousness in disguise. Perhaps I've not spent enough time admiring its genius. Although, I suppose John would be the one for that. The man would be astounded. The accuracy, if only he could hear his masqueraded self.

"You mean to say I'm in your mind? My voice? Why, how magnificent!"

Indeed, or so it was.

In time, this small space grew and spread, infecting hallways and staircases, blocking passageways. It delivered biting, cruel commentary for every passing thought. It festered in my mind, wrapping itself around nerve endings, dissolving the hardened layer I’d created many years ago.

 _Idiot_.

John would never say this, I knew, but doubt seemed to creep slowly, sneakily upon me. Would he? Had I really known the man? And surely, after what I'd done his idea of me had changed. Isn’t that how people think?  
So perhaps,

_Shut up._

No, this was wrong again. I had no actual Watson to replace the one in my mind. Instead, I attempted to reference memories from the years past. I wandered down the halls, creeping ever closer to the slippery toxic walls. I opened doors, watching it moved closer, listening for his voice. Footsteps from behind sounded lightly on wooden floors. Step, step, tap. Step, step, tap. The smell an overwhelming mix of adrenaline, fear, hatred, and poison seeping in around us.

There he was. I waited for a sound to escape those tight pressed lips. Simply prove that what I'd been hearing wasn't what he thought. John seemed intent on suspense. Speak. One word was all I required to banish the previous. His jaw moved ever so slightly. Immeasurably so. Had it moved? My gaze darted across his face. An exhale, then a quick inhale. Air moved. I could not feel it, however close the proximity. No matter. He would speak. This time, I would listen.

"You won't though. You never do." His lips never parted. A trick then. A played recording.

"Lost within yourself, not even able to escape for one bloody moment." The voice, there it was again. I listened closely. I had to find the source.

The voice had stopped. No, no. Must keep it occupied.

 _Speak_.

"Commanding me will get you nowhere. All this? It's pointless. Something to keep yourself occupied. You know, if you get so bored why don't you just leave?"

 _Can’t_.

"And why not? Say it. This time we both know."

 _Dangerous_.

"You love danger."

 _Too dangerous_.

"Because?"

 _Trapped_.

“That’s not quite right either. You may have locked yourself in here, but if you stay any longer, it won’t be pleasant.”

 _Leave_.

“You should.”

 _Get out_.

“If only you would. We could avoid this mess. That’s the thing though, you won’t until I do, and the both of us can’t abandon you in this state. I’ve got to stay, and you’ve got to go. But you already know this. In fact, I think you’ve known it for a very long time. Do you find this place safe? Ah, of course you do. The poison filling your lungs an intimate internal caress. Similar to this, really. You’ve chosen a very predictable hiding place. It makes you weaker. You know this.”

 _Shut up_.

“Now I ask again, why won’t you just leave?”

 _I don’t know_.

“Sherlock.”

 _I don’t know_.

“Wrong.”

John’s eyes were empty. He unsealed his lips. A quick blast and smoke blanketed any sound which might have escaped. I attempted to read his slowly moving lips. It was futile, the smoke only spread, surrounding him.

Brain synapses fired like gunshots.

_Freak._

_Defect_.

 _Wrong_.

 _Weak_.

 _Idiot_.

_Shut up._

_Wrong_.

 _Piss off_.

 _Wrong_.

It was all wrong. It was all I could hear, each blast ringing out, echoing painfully from within. My eyes shot open. My ears bled. Every bullet hit their target. I knew they would.

John was an excellent marksman.

 


End file.
